Awakenings
by QoS
Summary: The first few seconds after Vector Sigma programs the Stunticons - from their points of view.
1. Chapter 1

_Summary : The first few seconds after Vector Sigma programs the Stunticons, from their point of view._

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Chapter 1**

Light blazed through the darkness.

A surge of electricity and something else – something far more powerful – crackled through circuits. Processors accepted it, organized it into programs and laid it down as the permanent framework in which they would operate from that moment on.

A personality, created in nanoseconds. A conscious mind, made up of circuits and receptors and data banks and yet greater than the sum of those parts, unawakened until that moment. Awareness and sentience.

"Personality programming completed," were the first words he heard.

All systems were online and the newborn intelligence registered the bulk of the form it controlled, automatically gauging the amount of energy needed to move its limbs, the quantity of light allowed into the optical system. On a more conscious level, it evaluated the environment for any enemies, but none seemed present. The other four beings – _mechs_, vocabulary stores supplied the word and his mind would use it from then on – which stood close by were smaller, no real threat.

And recognition of them stirred far deeper than conscious thought, but before he could access that, audial sensors picked up the sound of heavy steps behind him. He turned.

Now _that_ could be a threat. The mech he now faced was not only taller but carried a weapon on his right arm, displayed as an open sign of aggression. He was not unarmed – there was an energy-sword in his right hand that he couldn't remember drawing – but it would not do against a gun. His databanks scrolled through hundreds of weapon designs, pulling up the correct one almost immediately so he would know exactly what he confronted--

"I am Megatron, your leader."

_Megatron. _

This time, the information retrieval was even faster. Megatron, the leader of all Decepticons, was his leader. So he was a Decepticon.

Until then the conscious mind had had knowledge, but now it began to have understanding. It integrated what it was told with what it knew, and the nascent mental framework strengthened. From then on, Megatron would be foremost in the new creation's will. Megatron was the first mech whose name he had known, the one who had given him purpose when he might have become confused at the sudden onrush of data and consciousness.

Light still streamed from the glowing sphere, but the burning heat in the red optics was stronger.

"Declare yourselves to me!" Megatron ordered.

_Declare yourselves_. State your designation. Show that the programming has succeeded.

A deep sure knowledge came from a source that was neither Megatron nor even the intricate networks that made up his own programming. _You are the leader. You speak first. _

He accepted the information with no surprise. It was natural to be the leader – he was the largest and strongest of the small group of mechs who stood before Megatron, so he was their superior. Just as Megatron was taller and more powerful than he was, so Megatron was the supreme commander. The chain of command locked into place, never to be broken.

I am the leader, so I speak first.

He had not been built with a name, but it came from the awareness now embedded within him, reaching his processors instantly. The conscious mind evaluated it – and approved.

The motor gives energy to the whole and is the living force of the vehicle. It is the leashed fire beneath the steel, the source of the speed and the beating core of all that lives. And I control that power, it bends to my will and obeys me, and through me my leader. Because even the strongest such device stills at Megatron's touch.

He raised his sword. One of the other mechs flinched, but Megatron did not – perhaps he recognized a salute when he saw one, or perhaps he was fearless. Either way, that set the seal on the new mind's allegiance. Not that it needed one.

"I am Motormaster," he said. "I swear loyalty to you!"

* * *

_Author's note : This story was actually inspired by _Atlas Shrugged_. I was re-reading the part where they found the motor, and it made me think of the significance of Motormaster's name. And the time of year influenced the idea of awakening._

_The Stunticons also have something to say regarding the New Year…_

Motormaster : Enjoy it while you can, organic vermin. It's going to be your last.

Drag Strip : Yeah, Megatron's got a new weap--ow! Um, anyway, you're all dead. {sotto voce} I shall show mercy to anyone who writes good stories about me.

Dead End : We're all dead, sooner or later. I can't see why anyone bothers celebrating – one year is very much like another.

Wildrider : But this time I'm going to hit the human version of Vector Sigma.

Breakdown : Have you lost it completely? Humans don't have a--

Wildrider : Yes, they do! Big shiny ball in Times Square. Happy New Year, slaggers!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

The light descended like a sunrise in a space of a second.

It took even less time for systems and processors to respond. Memory banks had been installed days earlier, connected to intricate circuits that had so far lain silent. They had been as unused as the autonomic systems that controlled relays and receptors and hooked into the powerful transformation cog.

An irony, even to call them autonomic. They had not been under the new being's control, because until that moment, no new being had existed.

But now the light pierced metal, burned quietly through webs of wires and reached the processors that had been designed to accept it. Absorbing information from a source far more ancient than the hands which had made it, the neural network built up a unique personality. And the carefully constructed frame held a mind.

"Personality programming completed."

The newborn awareness instantly accessed all the resources at its command. Sensory input from optics and audials – the high-priority second-level feedback – streamed in at a rush, along with first-level reports from the rest of the physical systems. But the mind was Cybertronian, computerized and functioning from the moment of creation. And the personality now programmed into the mesh of circuits was also able to handle the flood of data. A calm evaluation of the surroundings determined that there was no immediate danger.

That permitted even more self-awareness, though in a physical sense. Optics took in what they could of the frame, noting the armor plates that covered the chest and abdomen, protecting engine and transmission. Deeper even than those was the laser-core, a spark of Cybertron within an Earth shell.

The shielding hardly seemed sufficient, but the sudden play of light on polished metal below was distracting. Not as polished as they could have been, the panels that covered arms and shins, but the colors were well-chosen. Not the garish red of flames, but the shadow in the center of a garnet, dark and gleaming. Darker still on the hands – one of them held a weapon – and thighs, but reverting to that subtle red-not-red on the straight sleekness of fender panels which stopped at ankle-wheels.

That was the way to be noticed without being obvious and crude.

Being noticed by the tall silver mech who now strode closer may not have been the best thing, however, but even as the new consciousness focused on him, the mech spoke.

"I am Megatron, your leader. Declare yourselves to me!"

Leader?

Databanks supplied more information at once, building it around the single word as though that was a seed-crystal. The leader of an army, a ruler of warriors; that matched what the new mind knew of the body it inhabited. That frame had been designed for battle. Forcefield and thrusters, combat radar, bulletproof armor, an engine that would sing with blurring speed on the road.

Yet that road was the line between life and death, and one day he would swerve off it.

A larger mech stepped forward and raised a sword. "I am Motormaster. I swear loyalty to you!"

_He is our commander_, said a core-deep certainty. Somehow that failed to produce any reassurance.

There was a millisecond of silence, during which he wondered if any of the other three mechs would speak. He had no real interest in them, but there was a strange connection between him and them, as though he knew where they were without bothering to look. A sensory system of a completely different kind seemed to detect their presence. Oddly, he felt no such link to Megatron.

He felt a gentle internal push, a prompt from the same half-unwanted source. _Say your name, state your designation, demonstrate self-awareness and obedience._

Why should I be next, though?

It was only afterwards – long afterwards – that he realized why. A broken gestalt couldn't function as a whole one, but at the same time, even a gestalt that had lost its leader didn't simply deactivate _en masse_. There was a failsafe programmed into their minds, a sliver of mercy – or pragmatism – that was a gift of Vector Sigma. If a gestalt leader fell, another part of the whole would take control, would fill the vacuum. Crudely, perhaps, certainly not as designed for the task as his predecessor, but functional enough to give the gestalt time to recover or die.

So there was always a second-in-command, rarely if ever acknowledged but present nevertheless. And just as the Constructicons had Hook – cold and perfectionistic and brilliant – and the Combaticons had Blast-Off – cold and snobbish and lethal – the Stunticons had him. The same reserve and coolness to balance out the leader's more open or forceful traits, the same intelligence and patience.

The emergent consciousness reached for the name that defined its identity.

My teammates and I were built to rule the roads, and on those roads to destroy anything which met us in combat. But all roads stop eventually, and existence leads to the same conclusion for all life. Even for what's not alive. If the stars themselves will burn out some day, I can hardly expect to survive for long, and being part of this Megatron's war will only hasten the inevitable.

"I am Dead End," he said, and decided to copy the raise-weapon gesture he had seen earlier even though it looked melodramatic. A profession of loyalty might also be expected. "I guess I'll have to do what you say."

Until I deactivate and rust, I suppose. At least it won't be long before that happens.

_Author's note : Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Light filtered slowly down, as if through a clear blue sea.

The complex web of processors activated far more quickly. Electricity spun and skittered, forging connections, weaving the new personality into that meshwork. Power sped through transistors faster than even the alt-mode of the frame they commanded.

The new mind awoke to sight.

Optics brightened as the receptors behind them activated. The finely-tuned visual system took in everything around it: the huge chamber, the glowing sphere hovering high above the floor and the mechs who stood around it. In the space of a nanosecond, the newborn awareness saw its first colors, walls, complex weapons and the beings – much more complex – who carried them.

And one in particular, one with optics the color of a furnace's core and even more distinctive against pale armor. Smoldering with power and presence, the implacable gaze locked with that of the new awareness, probed with the precision of a laser-scalpel and moved on.

"Personality programming completed."

The emotionless voice helped. It distracted from the wrenching sensation of being looked at so intensely, as if the other mech's stare was peeling armor layers back to reveal everything below, down to the laser-core. Through peripheral vision from the corners of optics – so as not to move and risk drawing the other mech's attention again – the new consciousness watched the sphere to see if it would speak again.

An automatic subroutine cycled alternate lenses into place, to pick up any ultraviolet or infrared emissions from the sphere as it descended. _Several means of visual detection, sensitivity to sensory input, fast alt-mode_. Processors linked those together, and even before databanks corroborated it, the conscious mind knew the function of its frame.

That frame was plated in pale armor too. But rather than being the polished silver of a battle-standard that reflected the light, it was a white so intense that it seemed to glow of its own accord. _And draw even more attention_.

Optics flicked up as the other mech strode closer, and wariness ran clenching cold through circuits, but the mech stopped without singling anyone out of the small group.

"I am Megatron, your leader," he said. "Declare yourselves to me!"

Part of the new personality wanted nothing more than to stay quiet and unnoticed, to let everyone else answer instead. But another part knew that the frame and the mind that now filled it had already been seen. The burning evaluation in the red optics was seared into memory banks, but deeper than those was a near-instinctive compulsion to bend before a superior force.

The order was to declare a self that had not existed until a moment ago, and he tried to obey.

A subconscious knowledge spoke without sound, giving a name as unique as the personality that would manifest it. The new awareness registered the single word… and its processors stuttered in a mental jolt that locked its vocalizer.

_That--_that_ is my name?_

A larger mech raised a sword with a honed edge that seemed to split apart even the light rays that fell on it. "I am Motormaster. I swear loyalty to you!"

Startlement gave way to dismay. _Motormaster_… the name spoke of strength, just as Megatron's did. So why had he been given a name that meant failure?

Because he had an inherent weakness. That was why Megatron had stared – _he_ recognized the crumbling-point in the wall, the chink in the armor. Despair grew and unfolded as if it was transforming as well, prepared to overcome him at any moment.

_No_. A determination clamped down, a resolve that came partly from him and partly from an outside source. _That can't be the only reason for this designation. _

_Please let it not be the only reason._

Another mech, beautiful in dark-red and black, raised a gun. "I am Dead End. I guess I'll have to do what you say."

He couldn't ask anyone outside for help – he could barely speak – so he turned inward instead. His awareness sank beneath the surface of armor and the weave of wires, the thousands of junctions where receptors met circuits. Deeper still, and beyond the internal armor that guarded a star – the laser-core and the rays that spread out from it. Those were the unseen connections of what he knew without being told was a gestalt bond.

_Why this name?_

_Show you show you show us_, a whisper ran through his wires.

The spiraling arms of the gestalt link brightened. It was like being in the center of a hub, seeing the spokes that radiated outwards. They were all he _could_ see – everything around him grew dark, and the walls of the world shuddered like cogs or tectonic plates scraping together.

Through it all the gestalt link glowed cool, unaffected.

He understood then. A strange inversion operated within their bond, as though the plodding ways of the rest of the world did not apply to them and never would. _We work differently_. So his gift was to ruin anything that threatened them, damaging without even a touch. Yet within their link he held the rest together as they whirled in their separate ways, a function disguised by his own weakness. Destroyer and concenter, hammer and hub, his purpose settled irrevocably into his consciousness – and he accepted it.

He spoke quickly, before his vocalizer could fail him again. "I'm… I'm Breakdown." Too late he realized that he hadn't saluted, much less lifted a weapon. _Quick, make up for that!_ "I'll obey too."

_Author's note: Thanks for reading and commenting! I'm glad people are enjoying this series. Drag Strip's entry is next... and that should be **fun** to write. :)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The light flashed as a flame, burning bright.

It sank through layers of armor and into the intricate web of wires built to contain it. Flickers of a complex creation, something far more than a machine, sparked in processors and raced through circuits. They carved lines of living fire through a mindscape of metal, tracing the shape of a personality and a sentience.

"Personality programming completed."

_Whose personality? Mine?_

It was the new mind's first awareness of itself, but there was already a carefully constructed foundation to support the gift of existence. A Cybertronian meshwork of interlocking circuits and databanks, more complex than constellations, responded at once. Information surged up in a flood. At the same time, more words wrote themselves on a visual display so fast that they nearly blotted out the scene in the room.

The new consciousness kept pace with them easily, noting the status of its systems before making a swift evaluation of its frame.

Satisfaction resulted. From the open block of pistons that denoted a high-performance engine to the sleek lines of the spoiler, the frame was built for speed. The two tires on each upper arm were perfect for tight maneuvers. The final tires on the ankles were larger than anyone else's, as a quick scan of the other mechs in the room showed when the scan turned outward.

Except for the tall silver mech who took one sudden pace toward them, who had no wheels at all. But the power he radiated was as palpable as the gun on his arm – that seemed to be larger than anyone else's too – and the new consciousness felt its frame move to face him.

It moved in smooth unison with the four other mechs and did so without conscious thought, but before its mind could analyze why that had happened, the silver mech spoke.

"I am Megatron, your leader."

_Megatron._ Scrolling swiftly through databanks, the new mind drew up all the answers it needed. Megatron the Slag Maker, supreme commander of the Decepticons, a warlord of warriors and conqueror of Cybertron who would crush this new world beneath his feet.

Those were acceptable qualifications for a leader, even if he didn't have wheels.

And their color schemes were alike too. Pure silver and bright gold, as though he had been designed in the image and likeness of his leader in that respect at least.

"Declare yourselves to me!" Megatron ordered.

Automatic obedience powered up a vocalizer, but oddly enough no declaration came. Instead a larger mech raised a sword and spoke first.

"I am Motormaster!" he said. "I swear loyalty to you!"

"_Master"? I could race circles around him._ But that wasn't as important as saying his name, and his consciousness turned briefly inward, scanning through memory banks. Nothing was found, but that only sharpened his determination. The declaration he deserved would not elude him for long and the search moved deeper, beyond the shells of internal armor to the laser-core they protected, which had flared with a light of its own in response to the glow that came from outside--

He knew his name.

Disappointment stirred in the sudden internal silence. Not even Megatron could give him a name – it had to come from within, and this one certainly had. But why was it so… simplistic, when Megatron and Motormaster both had long and imposing names?

As if from a great distance, he heard another mech state his designation, but how could he do the same, when his name was so short and unassuming? It should have indicated his unmatchable speed, the blinding flight of his frame on the road. Supersonic, Lightspeed, Photon--

_The gladiatorial arena was Megatron's proving ground,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _This was yours._

He put that together with the history in his memory banks, the knowledge of his frame's past accomplishments that had brought it to Megatron's attention. His proving ground… that was where his frame had commanded awe and respect before he had even existed. How much more glory it could gain now that he did!

And his name was short and sharp, two syllables that would be torn from the gasps of spectators, wrenched by the whip of wind as he sped by. The rough consonants made him think of tires fighting to grip the ground as they spun into the tightest of turns. The abrupt sound at the end was the friction falling away as acceleration kicked in.

Then there was nothing more but the road ahead and the races he would win on it.

"I'm – I'm Breakdown," a third mech said, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to hide behind someone else. "I'll obey too."

Being overtaken to a declaration of obedience by someone like _that _made his fist clench involuntarily, but he hoped Megatron would take that as a salute.

"I am Drag Strip!" _Say something about obedience. I would die to serve you? No, I don't want to die, for any reason._ "I live to obey!"


End file.
